


does life shine more without me?

by merdwx



Series: my newtmas oneshots [3]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merdwx/pseuds/merdwx
Summary: This little one-shot is based on a dutch song (hoe het danst). i translated some of the lyrics for you and added them to this little story. i think it fits the theme very well :)unbeta'ed!~just two idiots in loveor; ten years apart





	does life shine more without me?

** _London, 11 am, 25/10/2009_ **

_ Holding the keys, doorknob in my hand _

Thomas feels his chest tighten as he stares at the apartment door he knows so well. Hundreds of memories shoot through his head, swirling his vision. Deep down he wishes the apartment was empty, but a voice in his head reminds him that he is always home. Slowly, he reaches out for the doorknob. The metal feels strangely cold and unfriendly in his hand.

_ But I doubt whether I can still go in _

His hand grips the doorknob tighter and he closes his eyes to try and pull himself together. A part of him feels like he’s not allowed to go inside anymore, even though he still pays for half of the rent. For now, at least. He feels weirdly estranged from everything about his home. He has lived here for nearly a year now, but in a few days, it has all changed. His friends’ words echo in his head, reminding him that he really has to do this. Swallowing his tears down, he opens the door. 

_ Your every move seems to move away from me _

He gathers his stuff quietly, packing them in categorized boxes. Teresa offered to help him, but Thomas knew he had to do this alone, so instead, she just wrote categories on the boxes. 

He stiffens as he hears the creaky living room door open just as he’s about to close the box labelled ‘clothes’. 

He speeds up his packing process, but it doesn’t help. Within a few seconds, he hears someone enter the room. The familiar uneven footsteps allow pain and guilt to shoot through him like a spear.

“Morning, Thomas.”

Thomas merely nods, checking the nightstand for any of his belongings. He can’t bring himself to glance back, knowing he would break down if he did. He hears the footsteps shuffle as he opens the closet, taking out his sweaters one by one. It feels distant.

_ I haven’t seen your heart so open in a long time _

A ringing phone. Thomas almost drops a t-shirt. The footsteps walk away from him slowly. 

“Yeah?”

He continues packing as he hears the voice talk on and on for minutes, a lot more cheerful than he ever remembered it to be. He doesn’t wait to listen, as much as he wants to. He has to be strong. He has to -

“Yeah, I’ll see you there tomorrow. Eight pm. Okay, bye.”

Thomas recognizes the smile in those words and takes a deep breath, faking a blank face as he hears the footsteps come closer. The door opens. He smiles. It was probably just his mom. Or maybe his sister - she’s sick, she needs attention.

Or maybe he’s moving on already.

It takes him a few hours to get everything he needs, especially because he’s followed everywhere. The last thing he packs is a picture of them together, smiling under the London Eye. The picture sends a stabbing pain through his heart. He covers it up with a t-shirt, not caring about categorizing anymore. It's all his fault.

“You forgot this.”

Thomas looks at the pillow - his pillow - and takes it quickly, averting his eyes before the tears fall. 

“Thanks.”

They move the boxes outside together. It’s weird. Uncomfortable. Minho is waiting downstairs, helping him put the boxes in the tiny bus he rented. He throws a look. Thomas glares. With a heavy feeling in his heart, he heads back to get the last box. He doesn’t get help this time. It feels like a goodbye.

The box isn’t very heavy. He wonders why he’s still standing there. Neither of them is able to look at the other. 

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

Softly, his voice choked up, Thomas replies.

“Goodbye Newt.”

They lock eyes before the door closes.

  
  


** _London, 10 pm, 27/06/2019_ **

_ Do you want to know what it’s like to dance without me?  _

He’s been watching for a while now, unable to move. He didn’t know what he was expecting from this night, but this definitely wasn’t it. Minho hasn’t noticed, chatting happily with some blonde girl. Newt doesn’t have the energy to make a comment about it. It feels like he’s been slapped in the face. 

It started off fine, just like every Saturday night. It had become a habit to hang out together and play some games. They had been doing it for ten years now. Minho decided halfway through that it was time to go out, though, with the excuse of it almost being Newt’s birthday. After some complaining, Newt agreed, mostly because he knew parties were a good place to find someone new. 

_ Maybe you have more balance without me _

The boy moved beautifully. Well, you couldn’t really call him a boy anymore, although there was still something child-like about him. It had been ten years. He’d grown up. Newt wondered if he had gotten married. Maybe he had kids. 

_ If I have to, I will step aside _

He remembers everything that happened clearly. Maybe that’s why it hurt him so much. They were only eighteen, but they were in love, and they were happy. He remembers drunken nights of making out. Prom. Their first date, first kiss, first time. He remembers when they first met. 

Unfortunately, he also remembers the last times. They were full of pain, from both sides. Sometimes, he tried to comfort himself by saying that at least he’s not angry anymore. 

_ If it’s better, if that’s better _

Minho and the girl have disappeared. Newt finds them on the dancefloor after a few minutes. They seem to be having fun and he feels himself smile a little. 

_ Does life shine more without me? _

He received letters. Emails. After a while, texts and voicemails. He sounded happy. Newt wishes he was truly happy as well. A part of him was angry. He never replied.

_ Does love get another chance without me? _

He heard from Minho of his lovers, when he stopped sending updates himself. Thankfully, they weren’t many, and they didn’t last long. Some girl at his job. A neighbour girl his colleague matched him with. A guy he met at a bar. Newt found himself relieved that he hadn’t fallen in love with someone. Or maybe he had. Minho stopped updating after a few years, realizing how it affected Newt. 

_ If it’s truly like that I’ll let you go _

After five years, Newt gave up. He didn’t ask Minho anymore. He never bothered to check his social media. He didn’t call or text or thought about doing it. Minho tried to talk to him, but somehow, he was never brought up between them. Maybe Minho thought he had moved on. Newt liked to believe that too, even though it was far from the truth.

_ Doesn’t mean that I won’t miss you _

No matter what he told himself and his friends and even  _ him _ , Newt cried. Of course he wished him the best. Of course he knew he had to let him go. But despite all of that, Newt was heartbroken. He cried for days, then months, even years. He tried to find love and failed. It felt like he couldn’t move on no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, he gave up on that too. 

_ I can’t talk to you so I keep quiet _

He had a job for a while, at a small coffee shop. The people that worked there were nice and understood when he didn’t show up the first time. The second time, too. The third time, they got worried. Minho called and said he wouldn’t get out of bed, but it would pass. The fourth and longest time, he didn’t show up for weeks. They called him every day until Minho called back. The next day, his co-worker Brenda visited him in the hospital. 

_ But it feels like you don’t want to fight for me _

The days in the hospital were terrible, but he recovered. Minho helped him every day, supporting him and paying for his therapy and medication. He told Newt it was because Newt couldn’t afford it himself, but Newt knew he felt guilty. He decided to get better, even if it was just for his best friend. Thomas never called. 

_ It’s not that I don’t want to, but it seems like I’ve forgotten the way _

_ Don’t know which direction, which road leads to you _

He got better. It was a bitter kind of feeling, knowing this was the second time he let depression take over. Still, he worked hard. He got a job at a florist and started working out again. He talked to his family and lost friends. He went on a few dates. They were unsuccessful, but felt like victories. He tried to talk to Thomas, but his number was unavailable. He didn’t get a reply to his letters and his email-address didn’t exist anymore. He was too afraid to ask Minho, so he kept trying on his own, all with no results. Slowly, he gave up on Thomas once again. 

_ I’ll probably learn to dance without you _

Newt stands up and feels spots rush to his vision, downing his glass in one go. In the few minutes he’d been staring, he had made a decision. It’s probably a bad decision, but it’s not like he hasn’t made those before. 

He moves slowly towards the middle of the dance floor, not taking his eyes off the brunet until he turns around slowly and starts dancing. 

_ Even though I miss the balance without you _

He isn’t a very good dancer and he knows it. Minho and Thomas had always been the ones to move gracefully, looking like they were born to dance. Newt always stood to the side, watching them with a drink in his hand and a grin on his face. Right now, however, he doesn’t care. He just wants to dance and get lost in the music that’s in a language he doesn’t understand. 

_ Oh, I hope I can do it without you _

He remembers late nights of Thomas teaching him how to dance and laughing when Newt tripped and almost fell. He remembers apologizing every time he accidentally stepped on Thomas’ toes. He remembers hearing the news, and slow dancing with Thomas that night, tears falling on his shoulder. 

_ If it’s better, if that’s better _

Bodies bump into him from all sides, but Newt somehow manages to stand his ground. For the first time, the amount of people in the room isn’t too much for him. There are only two he cares about. Surprisingly, he’s not that bad at dancing. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s him. Either way, his leg doesn’t hurt, and he doesn’t feel embarrassed for the way he moves.

He knows he’s been seen. He feels two eyes watching him. He doesn’t move. Newt knows he should talk first, but the stubborn part of him is still a little angry he left, and it’s enough to keep him in these few square feet, his eyes purposely not looking away from the bar. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s on that floor when he feels a hand grab his upper arm. In a reflex, he turns around and comes face-to-face with someone he hasn’t seen in ten years. 

To his surprise, Thomas doesn’t speak. Newt doesn’t argue. It makes sense, with the music, the emotions and their history. Instead, he starts to dance with him, his hand sliding down from his arm to his waist. 

They stay there for a very long time, dancing to the booming music that will make their ears ring the next day, arms around each other, tightly pressed together between the other people in the crowd. Newt can’t feel his legs anymore when Thomas looks up at the wall behind Newt. Then, he turns around and leaves.

Newt stares at him. Maybe he should say something. Maybe he should take his arm like Thomas did an hour - two hours? - earlier. He should probably move. 

He doesn’t, letting flashbacks wash over him. 

  
  


**London, 11 am, 28/06/2019**

_ Doesn’t mean that I won’t miss you _

Newt enters his regular coffeeshop properly hungover. Brenda probably notices, because when he approaches the counter, she leaves immediately and comes back with his regular order a few minutes later. 

“Rough night?”

Newt nods, trying to find his voice. He learnt from his therapist that it’s better to talk about something than keep it hidden inside.

“Saw my ex last night,” he mumbles. Brenda raises her eyebrows. 

“The one that moved to New York? For that stupid science job?”

“Do I have any other proper exes?”

“Just checking,” Brenda says. She glances behind her and, seeing no Alby, she takes off her apron and walks around the counter. Newt sips his coffee, cringing when it’s too hot. 

“What was it like?” She asks. 

Newt shrugs. “We danced. Didn’t talk. It was weird.”

“You  _ danced _ ?” Brenda says. Newt glares at her. 

“Okay, whatever,” she says. “What was he like?”

Newt stares at his coffee cup. His therapist’s voice echoes in his head.  _ Be honest, be honest _

“Hot.” 

Brenda rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean that, silly. Did he seem angry? Upset?”

Newt looks at her for a while, figuring out an answer.

“No,” he says eventually. “But after a while he just kind of… left.”

“That’s a dick move,” Brenda replies bluntly. Newt shrugs again. He doesn’t have the energy or motivation to think about it much. 

“So let me get this straight - don’t make a joke,” she continues. “You’re eighteen, he gets a great job opportunity in New York, you can’t go with him because of your sick sister, so you break up. Yeah?”

Newt nods, tired of telling this story over and over again. 

“He tries to keep in contact with you and you ignore him, and after ten years, he’s back in London and you dance together, and then he just  _ leaves _ ?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply this time, instead choosing to stand up and put her apron back on. 

“You guys are messed up. Please talk it out.”

“We can’t,” Newt says. “I don’t know how to contact him.”

“Well, figure it out, because you two are driving me insane.”

** _London, 2 pm, 28/06/2019_ **

Newt slowly walks through the little park connected to the London Eye when his phone rings. It’s Minho. He picks up hesitantly, not knowing if he wants to talk to him. 

“Hi?”

_ “Thomas is here.” _

Newt’s knees buckle and he sits down quickly, receiving a strange look from a couple of tourists. 

“What do you mean? Like in the apartment?”

_ “No, of course not, but he’s here. In London. I saw him yesterday.” _

Newt doesn’t answer for a while, and Minho doesn’t speak either. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says eventually. 

_ “I thought you had to know. Just in case.” _

“Yeah. Thank you.” 

He hangs up quickly, not waiting for a reply from the other boy. 

He sits there for a very long time, watching the London eye turn around again and again, but never really looking. He doesn’t care that the sun has probably burned him by now, or that people are giving him concerned looks. He doesn’t move until the sky has turned a bright orange and the sun is setting. 

Footsteps approach. A warm body sits down next to him, giving off a familiar scent. Newt can’t help but smile because he  _ still  _ uses the same brand of shampoo he gave him on their first anniversary. 

He looks up, locking eyes with Thomas for the first time in many years. It’s now, in daylight, that he can really see how much he has changed. His hair is longer and he has a small beard. His face has matured and become more serious, even though there’s a smile on his lips. Newt guessed it was probably because of the many lifechanging events that had happened. 

Thomas opens his mouth, and it’s a deeper voice, raspy, but still the same voice he knew and loved. 

“Hi.”


End file.
